Crisis of Faith
by deichtine
Summary: COMPLETE! A character-driven piece dealing with faith, trust, and Brennan's break with his old life when he first joins Mutant X. 04-27-05 removed song lyrics.
1. Chapter 1: Father Awa

Disclaimer: Mutant X and its associated characters, locales, etc. are the property of Tribune Entertainment et al. and no copyright or other legal infringement is intended by the writing of this story. However, this story and all non-canonical characters are my own. Please let me know if you wish to use them. The lyrics which begin certain chapters belong to Michael W. Smith's song "On the Other Side" from the album _I 2 Eye_ and are used here without permission but in hopes that no one will sue me.

Summary: A short piece involving faith and Brennan's struggle in breaking away from his old life into the new. This story sends a Christian message – if you're inclined to be put off by that, best you know it now. Please don't flame – if you don't like it, for heaven's sake, don't read it.

Rating: G

Relationships: none to speak of. It focuses on the three guys; the girls won't show up very much.

Timeline/Spoilers: Set approximately three or four months after Brennan and Emma join up (first season). No effort has been or will be made to conform to the canonical timeline of the series beyond that we're still in the good ol' Genomex days. There should be no spoilers beyond ep 102 (_I Scream the Body Electric_), but it will refer back a lot to the events of the first two episodes.

**Crisis of Faith**

By Deichtine.

Jesse was out of bed on Sunday morning almost before his alarm clock had a chance to go off; he had declined to go out for a drink with the others the night before and he knew they wouldn't be up for quite some time yet. Quickly he jumped into his clothes, eager to use the opportunity to get some solo time in the dojo to work on the holographic novel he had been writing in secret for weeks now. He checked the clock: 7:15. Perfect. Surely no one else would be up for at least an hour.

When Jesse reached the corridor, however, he instinctively quieted and moved back slightly into his room. Brennan, contrary to everything Jesse had learned in the past six months about the man's sleeping habits, was up with the sun and obviously on his way out. Jesse watched silently as the dark-haired man finished pulling his black t-shirt over his head as he walked down the hall, then followed him discreetly to the end of the concourse. Brennan reached the door to the garage, then stopped and looked around him furtively, causing Jesse to melt back into the wall to avoid being seen. Finally he shook his head, shrugged on his jacket, and left Sanctuary, taking for once one of their few less conspicuous rides – an old Ford that had obviously seen better days.

Jesse scratched his head in confusion. Where could Brennan be going on a Sunday morning? He obviously didn't want to be observed – he'd made himself about as unremarkable as a 6'3, ridiculously good-looking man could be.

Mentally Jesse reviewed what he knew about his newest teammate: he was a reformed criminal, supposedly, raised on the street – whatever that really meant. Jesse was having a hard time adjusting to the man's presence, certainly, but he had been sure that they were becoming friends. But now, only a few months after leaving his criminal life behind, he was sneaking out of Sanctuary at the one time of the week he was most likely to be unobserved. Why?

-----

Brennan remained kneeling long after the Mass concluded, his eyes tightly closed. He wasn't sure why he had started coming here. His mother had always insisted that he come to church with her every Sunday, but after she died and he entered the foster system, he had soon lost touch with that side of himself. When he was on his own on the streets, he avoided the church; the thought of it made him uncomfortable with the life he was leading, and reminded him too much of her. Now that he was beginning to try to find a new life for himself, he found himself drawn back here every Sunday, and he found that the words of the service impressed on him in the way they never had when he was a child, and could still repeat every response by heart, and singmost of thehymns without looking at the book.

Finally, he gave up on his unsuccessful attempt to pray – he didn't know what to say – and, automatically forming the sign of the cross, he opened his eyes and sat up on the pew, only to find Father Awa, the kind old Filipino priest of the small parish, sitting there on the pew in front of him, watching him.

"I didn't want to interrupt you, but you looked like you had a lot on your mind. Would you like to talk about it?" His accent and his age gave his voice a kind of easygoing warmth that made Brennan like him instantly – it was one of the reasons he had kept returning to this parish.

Brennan smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, Father, but I…I don't think I can right now," he answered, a little clumsily. He wasn't sure how to respond; he wasn't accustomed to being treated with open kindness.

Father Awa just smiled gently and nodded. "That's okay. I've seen you here the last few weeks; you're new to the parish, aren't you? I'm Father Awa." He reached out his hand, and Brennan hesitated, then took it.

"Brennan Mulwray."

"It's good to meet you, Brennan. How do you like our little church?" He asked, gesturing as if his hands' movement could take in the entirety of the little building with its little stained-glass windows and dark-stained pews, the mismatched flowers decorating the simple stone altar.

Brennan looked around and said, "I like it a lot. It feels…I don't know. Kind of homey."

Father Awa's gentle smile opened to a likeable grin. "You know, that's how I felt the first time I came here, too. There's something about this place that just feels…what is the word…real."

Brennan couldn't help smiling back. "Yeah, that's it."

"Do you have any family here in the city? You're welcome to bring them with you, you know."

Brennan shook his head ruefully. "Nah, I'm pretty much a loner. But thanks."

Father Awa stood up, and Brennan did the same. "Well, you know, we have lots of activities for young people to get involved, if you're interested. I will see you again next Sunday?" the little priest asked brightly.

Brennan nodded – what else could he do? "Yeah, sure."

Brennan sat cross-legged on the bed, trying to read, and failing miserably. He read the same paragraph again for the fourth time without really absorbing any of it, and then, sighing, finally had to give up.

Raising his eyes from the page, he looked around at the bedroom Adam had shown him to on his first day at Sanctuary. Despite the fact that he had been sleeping there almost four months, he had a hard time really feeling like it was _his._

The extra-long double bed was the first bed he'd ever had on which his feet didn't have to dangle over the end, and the few changes of clothing he'd brought with him to Sanctuary filled barely a quarter of the spacious closet. His few personal possessions, mostly books and a few tattered photographs, utterly failed to fill the huge space. On the dresser, a little potted ivy plant, Shalimar's welcome gift, struggled to survive. Looking around at the sheer size of the room, Brennan mused, not for the first time, that his old apartment could easily have fit inside this one room.

Though Adam had indicated more than once that Brennan should feel free to make himself at home, that there were funds available for him to do some shopping if he wanted to, he had never done so; what was the point, when he knew it could never last?

Deep down, from the day he had first put the ring on his finger, he had been waiting for the inevitable, for the day when Adam wand the rest would finally realize their mistake, that Brennan couldn't be the hero they thought he was, no matter how hard he tried. That day they would come to him and say, "Brennan, this isn't working out…" and their voices, their eyes, would betray their disappointment. He was a fraud, and he new it.

Suddenly, he was startled by a knock on the door, followed immediately by Shalimar, bounding energetically into the room. Without waiting for an invitation, she came over and plopped down on the bed beside him. "Whatcha doing?" she asked brightly.

Brennan hurriedly closed the book and set it, cover-side down, on the bed on the opposite side of him from Shalimar. "Nothing, really," he said. "Just reading."

"Well, what are you reading?" she asked, trying to peek over him at the book, but he blocked her view as subtly as he could.

"Oh…just some genetics stuff Adam gave me," Brennan instinctively lied, then instantly regretted it. Why had he not just told her the truth? For the same reason, he answered himself, that he had chosen the earliest Sunday Mass he could find, and never told the others where he was going. And Adam _had_ given him reading to do. "He said I'd need to master at least an elementary level of genetics knowledge to keep up with what the team was doing."

Shalimar's face betrayed that she knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth, but she didn't press it. "Yeah," she said, "Emma got that too. And what Adam calls 'elementary' most people call 'senior year university'."

Brennan chuckled. "You got that right."

"You know, Jesse's helping Emma with hers right now in the lounge. Why don't you come out and join them? I'll help you too."

Brennan shook his head. "Thanks, but…I don't know if…."

She gave him a mock-hurt look. "Hey, I'm good at this stuff," she protested. Adam's been drilling it into me since I was fifteen." She grabbed his hand wand jumped off the bed, dragging him with her. "Come on, don't be such a hermit."

Brennan couldn't help but laugh and allow her to pull him along. "Okay, okay." With his free hand he quickly scooped up the genetics book from the nightstand. If Shalimar noticed that it wasn't the same book, she didn't say anything.

"Hey," Jesse greeted them when they reached the lounge. His eyes flicked down to the book in Brennan's hand, and took on a mischievous twinkle. "So, you're getting ready for the big exam too, hey?"

"Exam?" Emma and Brennan repeated as one.

"Oh, yeah," Jesse said casually. "Didn't Adam tell you? You can't be a full member of Mutant X unless you pass the written test."

"Jesse!" Shalimar rebuked him, laughing at Emma and Brennan's discomfiture. "Stop that. Don't believe a word he says, guys. There's no test."

Brennan forced a little laugh, but then a slight movement drew his eyes up to the upper level, where he could see Adam standing, watching the group.

_Oh, yes, there is a test,_ Brennan thought. _It's just not a written test. And it's one I'll never pass._ Then, returning his attention to the situation at hand, he realized that Shalimar, now ensconced in an armchair with his book open on her lap, had asked him a question.

"What?"

"What pairs with Adenine?" she asked again.

Brennan sighed and sat down across from her. "Cytosine?" he guessed.

When he looked up again to the upper level of Sanctuary, Adam was gone.

End of Chapter 1.


	2. Chapter 2: Mike

Disclaimer: Mutant X and its associated characters, locales, etc. are the property of Tribune Entertainment et al. and no copyright or other legal infringement is intended by the writing of this story. However, this story and all non-canonical characters (eg. Father Awa) are my own. Please let me know if you wish to use them.

**EFFECTIVE APRIL 27 2005: The lyrics to Michael W. Smith's "On the Other Side" from the album _I 2 (eye)_ have been removed as per stated wishes of fanfiction dot net(see front page). However, they fit this story beautifully and I recommend you run a quick search on them, and have a listen to the song.**

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! You guys are the best. Thanks for bearing with me – I'm not very good at writing the emotional stuff, and I'm trying to 'push myself' the way Lanfear always recommended. :) I hope the story doesn't suffer as a result.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 2

By Susan E. Wadel

The next Sunday, Jesse again woke up early for some private time in the dojo. Over the course of the week he had almost forgotten the incident with Brennan, and when he went out in the hall and saw no sign that Brennan was up and about, he was ready to put the incident aside and forget about it. The guy had probably just needed some space, or had a nightmare, or something. But then he heard an alarm clock going off behind Brennan's door, quickly silenced, and soon after the rushing noise of the shower.

Quickly, Jesse went up to the dojo and set the holographic display to a file he'd programmed a few months back for a practical joke he'd pulled on Adam. It projected the image of an empty, inactive dojo, effectively rendering him invisible, though he could see out.

Sure enough, not long after, Brennan appeared, finger-combing his still-wet hair and shrugging on his jacket. Jesse watched as Brennan once again looked quickly around to be sure he was unobserved, then slipped into the garage and out of Sanctuary.

Jesse turned off the concealing display and sat down in the center of the dojo, debating whether he should follow his teammate. He wanted to believe the best of Brennan, or he thought he did, but he couldn't help being suspicious. Should he tell Adam? Should he follow him? If Brennan was still leading a life of crime, he could endanger the whole team. But if, on the other hand, he was just going out for a jog, or a private walk, or (he thought more likely) to visit some girl he'd met for a morning's tryst, who was he to intrude on that?

Finally he sighed and went back to his own room for a shower. He would wait, and see what Brennan said when he came back. He would give him the benefit of the doubt. And keep his eyes open.

-----

_I confess to Almighty God_

_And to you, my brothers and sisters_

_That I have sinned through my own fault;_

_In my thoughts, in my words,_

_In what I have done, and in what I have failed to do…._

Brennan spoke the words in unison with the congregation, feeling the weight of their truth. He had been reflecting on his life prior to Mutant X, and found little there to be proud of. Oh, he had been a successful criminal; that was not the issue. But every time he raised his eyes to the crucifix hanging above the altar, he felt it stir within him: the resolution to put right the wrongs he had done, as much as he could, to repay somehow the debt he owed to the people he had hurt. To be worthy of the opportunities he was being given.

Father Awa's sermon was short, but to the point; it focused on the theme of forgiveness, and how Christ was ready to forgive anyone who came to him. Brennan would have sworn the old priest was speaking directly to his heart.

Could it be true? He wondered. Could the God he knew mostly from the popular media, the God of the stern Commandments (of which he'd broken most, he was sure), the God of frowns and rules in whose name was justified so much hurtful judgment, could He truly forgive him just because he asked?

The Mass proceeded with Brennan lost in thought, and suddenly it was time for the sign of peace, that point in the Mass when the members of the congregation turn to one another and give each other a greeting of peace. Brennan shook hands with the old gentleman in front of him and the young mother on his right, then turned around – and stopped in surprise. The woman behind him, still shaking hands with the man to her left, was familiar. Why?

When she turned to face him, it clicked. The last job – the bank. He had held a gun on her, and lifted the necklace from around her neck, even as she shook with fear. And now she reached her hand out to him, smiled, and said, "Peace be with you."

He made himself accept the handshake, mumbled the response, and turned around again quickly, shaken. Had she recognized him? He had no idea. And as the rest of the congregation began to move forward for Communion, he remained in his seat, thinking, _Her necklace is still in my coat pocket._

When Brennan stepped out of the Church and descended the steps, his mind was still preoccupied; he felt weighed down by the thoughts chasing each other around in his head. And so he was taken entirely by surprise when an arm was flung around his shoulders and suddenly someone was pulling him into a rough hug.

"Brennan, man, it _is_ you! Where the hell have you been hiding?"

Brennan instinctively stiffened and twisted away from the man, landing in defensive stance, only to find himself staring into the laughing face of his old friend, Mike Azarello.

"Mike?" He said incredulously, then relaxed his stance to clasp the other man's hand in greeting.

"Where've you _been_, man?" Mike asked. "I haven't seen you since the day we did that job for Carter. And you wouldn't believe the stories flying around about you."

Brennan forced a little laugh. "Oh yeah?" he said, falling into step with his old friend. "What kind of stories?"

"Well, none of them make a whole lot of sense," Mike said. "Mostly they say the FBI sent a whole SWAT team after you in the skycourse, but the same people claim that there was some sort of freak lightning storm going on, and that there were people fighting with you who could leap ten feet in the air and turn intangible."

Again, Brennan forced a laugh, loud and derisive. "It was nothing quite that spectacular, I'm afraid," he said, mentally groping for a story to tell his friend. "Someone recognized me from the bank and called it in, and the police came after me. We had a pretty decent fight. They tasered me, and that put me down for awhile, but I broke away before they could get me downtown. I've been laying low ever since, hiding out. Couldn't risk contacting any of my old friends." Mike nodded in understanding. "As for the rest of it, the cat-girl and the lightning storm and the rest," Brennan snorted. "Your sources are on crack."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, I figured as much." He glanced down at his watch and swore. "Look man, I've gotta get going, gotta meet someone about a job. You want in, Brennan? The pay is sweet."

Brennan shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. Like I said, I've gotta lay low."

"Ah, come on, that was months ago. You can't hide forever. And we really need someone like you. You're irreplaceable!"

Brennan shook his head. "No, man, really, I don't do that anymore."

Mike moved around in front of Brennan to make him stop and listen to him. "At least come and hear the plan. Then decide, okay? For me? I'm asking you as a friend, here. I need you."

Brennan looked down into the earnest brown eyes of his oldest friend, hesitated, then sighed. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll come hear you out. But I'm not promising anything. And not today; I've gotta get going."

Mike looked like he couldn't have been happier. "Perfect! What about next Sunday, about nine-thirty?"

"In the morning?" Brennan asked, surprised.

Mike shrugged and rolled his eyes. "My client is paranoid, and convinced that there's no less suspicious meeting place than a Sunday brunch at a family restaurant. Go figure. That's where I'm headed now. Next week, I'll meet you back here, and we'll go together."

Brennan nodded. "Okay."

Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "You won't regret this, man," he promised, but as he walked away, Brennan had the sinking feeling that he would indeed regret it before all was said and done.

-----

The other members of the team were lounging in the kitchen, eating breakfast, when Brennan returned to Sanctuary.

"Morning, Brennan," Adam said, and took a sip of coffee. "You were out early this morning."

Brennan plastered on a grin and held up a paper bag from which wafted delicious smells. "Doughnut run," he announced. "I had a craving, and figured I'd bring some back here for breakfast."

Emma squeaked and reached for the bag, but Shalimar was faster, and confiscated the Boston Cream before Emma could grab the bag from her. Brennan watched them play with amusement, but Jesse was looking at him oddly.

"You were gone a little long for just a donut run, don't you think?" he asked.

Brennan stammered. "Well, I took my time, I wasn't in any hurry. What, did I miss something? Should I have checked in or something?" He flicked his gaze back and forth between Jesse and Adam, a little nervously.

Adam watched the two from over the rim of his coffee cup for a moment, then said, "No, no, that's fine. We were just a little surprised to wake up and find you gone, that's all," he said, giving Jesse a hard look. "You got any crullers in there?"

But Brennan felt Jesse's eyes on him, and knew he'd have to come up with something better next time.

Later that week, Brennan arrived back from a mission with a bad burn on his hand, and Adam insisted on bringing him down to the lab so that he could have a look at it. When he had put a soothing ointment on it and bandaged it up, he said, "You know, while I've got you down here anyway, I'd like to do a few scans."

"Aw, Adam," Brennan groaned. He had been studiously avoiding Adam's checkups, and Adam knew it.

The older man pointed a finger at him in a mock-severe authority gesture. "Shirt off, mister. It'll only take a few minutes."

Brennan sighed, took off his shirt, and lay back in the chair, staring up at the scanning equipment on the ceiling. "If I'd wanted to be a science experiment, I coulda stayed at Genomex," he grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it.

Soon Adam appeared at his side and began placing small electrode patches at strategic points on his chest. "So, how _are_ you doing, Brennan?" he asked, and Brennan looked over at him to see his brown eyes studying him with concern.

"I'm fine, Adam. Why, is something wrong?"

The warm scanning beam flickered down over him, and Brennan couldn't help fidgeting.

"Stay still, Brennan. Shoot, I'm going to have to run that one again. No, nothing's wrong physically as far as I can see. You've just seemed a little…withdrawn these past few weeks, troubled. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Brennan shook his head, eyes wide with sincerity. "Nope. Nothing I can think of."

"Now hold still this time. Begin scan." When the scanning glow faded, Adam returned to Brennan's side to begin removing the electrodes. His expression was still serious. "How are you getting along with the others? With Jesse?"

Brennan sat up, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. "Jesse's all right. The girls are great. I really don't know what you want me to say."

Adam sighed. "Okay, well, I'm not going to push. I just want you to know, whatever's troubling you, you can talk to me about it. Okay?"

Brennan pulled his shirt back over his head, wincing a little as it caught on his bandaged hand. "Okay, yeah, sure. Are we done now?" he asked.

Adam nodded. "Yeah, go on. And let that hand heal!" he called. Brennan waved to indicate he had heard, and escaped the lab.

Adam displayed the scan results on screen, but his mind wasn't really on them. Something was definitely going on with Brennan. For a street-wise criminal, he was really very obvious when he tried to be secretive. Adam wanted this team to work, but with Brennan he felt like he was running up against a brick wall.

"Brennan," he said aloud to the empty lab. "How do I get through to you?"

End Chapter 2.

Please, please review! Fics do not live on imagination alone; they must have encouragement!


	3. Chapter 3: Change

Disclaimer: MutantX and its associated characters, locale, etc. belong to Tribune Entertainment _et alia_ and no copyright infringement is in any way intended. This story, its ideas, and original characters (ie. Father Awa in this case) are my own and I would appreciate it if I were asked before anyone used them.

**EFFECTIVE APRIL 27 2005: The lyrics to Michael W. Smith's "On the Other Side" from the album _I 2 (eye)_ have been removed as per stated wishes of fanfiction dot net (see front page). However, they fit this story beautifully- they inspired this story -and I recommend you run a quick search on them, and have a listen to the song.**

Author's Note: A huge thank-you to everyone who's reviewed. I'm finding this story difficult to write, but I can't get it out of my mind. It's been bothering me for months, but I'm only now getting around to getting it out of my head and onto paper. I wasn't sure how it would be received, so your feedback means a lot to me.

Rating on this one chapter is pushed up to PG 13 for an instance of harsh language that I felt was true to character.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 3

By Deichtine

The next Sunday, Jesse awoke late, and when he checked the computer, it showed that Brennan had already left; indeed, he'd been gone almost an hour. He had planned to follow his mysterious teammate this time, but now that he was already late, he wasn't sure it was worth it.

He got out of bed and phased himself through the wall that separated his room from Brennan's, and began to glance around for any clues as to what the Elemental might be up to, hoping he could find something without disturbing things too much.

He was surprised again at how little stuff Brennan had. His and Shalimar's rooms were always overflowing with clutter, and even Emma's was starting to get a lived-in feel. But Brennan's room felt like a hotel room – like things were only brought out as needed, ready to pack up again at a moment's notice. There was something about it that bothered him about that, but he made himself shrug it off. After all, living on the streets, on the wrong side of the law, Brennan must be used to living sparsely, Jesse reasoned. "You've gotta be ready to get up and go."

Finally, his eyes alighted on a black hardcover book sitting on the nightstand – or, more specifically, they alighted on a piece of paper that had been used as a bookmark. Jesse lifted the piece of paper out of the book without even glancing at the title on the spine, and held it to the light. Sure enough, Brennen's rough handwriting was scrawled across one side.

MIKE – 9:30 SUNDAY IN FRONT OF ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS 

"Bingo."

-----

"Brennan!"

Brennan greeted the old priest with a smile and a warm handshake. "How're you doing, Father?" he asked. It still felt a little strange to address anyone as "Father", but the more he got used to it, the more it seemed to fit the little old Filipino.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Tell me, what did you think of my homily? Too long? Too short? I get a lot of complaints when they're too short, you know."

Brennan's eyebrows shot up even as he moved aside to allow the people exiting the church to pass by him. "Really?" he asked congenially.

"Well, they just barely get to sleep and bam! It's time for the _Credo_. Can't have a good nap that way."

Brennan grinned in spite of himself. "It was just right," he answered in the same teasing tone. "I even had time for a pretty cool dream."

Father Awa threw back his head and laughed aloud. "There!" he said triumphantly. "I knew it!"

"What?"

The little priest pointed straight at Brennan's chest, which was close to eyelevel for him, and fixed him with a knowing look. "That there was a sense of humour in there under all that angsty brooding seriousness. Come, now, are you ready to tell me yet what's bothering you? Or am I going to have to ferret it out of you?"

Brennan smiled sheepishly, and glanced at his watch. Just past nine. He had some time, and he would like to get some things settled in his mind before meeting Mike. "Do you have time now?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Of course. Come on to my office." With that, the grey-haired priest sprang off down the aisle towards the little side door, leaving Brennan to follow him.

Awa's office consisted of bookshelves, among which in the small space were nestled a little desk on which sat a dusty, ancient-looking computer and a rotary-style telephone, and in front of the desk two comfy-looking old plaid armchairs. Brennan was instantly comfortable there.

Motioning Brennan to take a seat, Father Awa pulled his chasuble and outer vestments over his head and draped them carefully across the desk, leaving him in a short-sleeved black shirt (with the obligatory backwards white collar at the throat) and black pants. He plopped down in the chair across from Brennan and said, "So, Brennan, what's on your mind, then?"

Brennan thought he'd have trouble getting started, but it seemed almost as soon as he opened his mouth, the floodgates were opened, and he was telling the priest everything that had been on his mind, everything that had happened to him in the last months. He said nothing about Mutant X or mutants specifically, but rather spoke of leaving his past behind, and trying to earn the respect of his new companions. And finally, he told him how, lately, he'd felt himself pulled back towards the Church, but always feeling unworthy to be there when he came.

"It's like I've walked into a fancy dress party in dirty jeans and three days' beard," he said, struggling to explain. "You know, my mom always had the nicest picture of Jesus on the wall in my room when I was little; he had these eyes, eyes that just seemed to …look right at you, then smile at what they saw. Like he really loved you, you know? I know, it sounds crazy. But, it's like, lately, I feel like I can't change, can't really leave my old life behind, until I can get that feeling back – like God can look at me, and smile. But I don't know if I ever can. There's been so much….It's been so long."

Father Awa sat through all of Brennan's speech, listening attentively, nodding, murmering encouragement, and when Brennan finally trailed off, he regarded him with intelligent eyes for a moment, before abruptly breaking the silence.

"Do you happen to speak any Tagalog, Brennan?" he asked.

Brennan blinked. "What?"

"Tagalog. My native language, a beautiful tongue. My name is Awa. In Tagalog, this means 'mercy'. I was named after the mercy of God, Brennan, and for good reason. Mercy by definition is freely given. Otherwise, it is not mercy, but rather some sort of trade-off. No, Brennan, it is His mercy that makes God so great, and such a perfect Father to us. That he has so much love for us, for me, for you, Brennan Mulwray, that he is always willing to forgive." Awa's hands gestured widely with the depth of his feeling. "Oh, Brennan, don't you see? Jesus has always seen you just like you imagined in the picture of your mother's. He looks at you, in your dirty jeans and stubbly chin, and loves what he sees. He has been waiting for you to find him again, so he can give you new clothes. All you have to do is be sincere, and be willing to put them on when he gives them to you."

He leaned forward. "And, Brennan, it wouldn't hurt for you to try to have a little mercy on yourself, too."

Brennan smiled a little awkwardly, unable to respond right away. Then, suddenly, he caught a glance of his watch, and saw the time. Nine forty. "Oh, sh….oot!" he said. "I'm late, I was supposed to meet someone ten minutes ago." He stood up and clasped the priest's hand.

"Thank you, Father. It feels…better…to talk about it."

"Anytime, Brennan, anytime. Think about what I've said. And, before you go, can I ask you, have you ever been to Confession?"

Brennan shrugged, a touch uncomfortably. "Once. When I was a kid. Before my first Communion, I think. I'm not sure I really understood the point."

"Here." Awa plucked a book off a shelf nearby and gave it to Brennan. "Have a look at this. It talks a bit more about it. And next week, if you like, if you're ready, just say the word. No pressure, but I think you might find it helpful. Just think about it."

Brennan accepted the book and put it in his inside pocket. "Okay, Father. I will."

Brennan skipped down the church steps two at a time, seeing with an odd mixture of relief and discomfort that Mike was waiting for him at the corner. He knew what he had to do, what he had to say, but he wasn't sure he would be able to.

"So you did come!" Mike said, clasping Brennan's hand. "I was beginning to think you'd left me dry."

"No way, man, you're my brother, you know that." As he said it, Brennan thought how true those words were. He and Mike had shared their last foster home and hit the streets together. They'd stuck together for over ten years, watching each other's backs. But now, it was like Brennan was seeing him from across a divide; his life had irrevocably changed, and their former closeness was going to make it harder to do what he had to.

"What were you doing in there?" Mike said, indicating the church with a motion of his chin.

Brennan shrugged. "What do you think?" he asked.

Mike stared at him incredulously. "You're not going to tell me you found Jesus, are you?"

Brennan tried to smile blandly. "Was he lost?"

Mike rolled his eyes and mimed a heart attack. "I cannot believe this. Brennan Mulwray, of all people, getting religion. Well, come on, we'll cure you of that soon enough. My client is so eager to meet you. I told him you weren't in for sure, but I know you're not going to let me down." And he swung an arm roughly around Brennan's neck to pull him forward towards an unthreatening little family diner down the street. Brennan looked at the little restaurant with a feeling of dread in his stomach. Something told him that if he let himself go in, he wouldn't come out without having been roped into the 'job of a lifetime'.

He stopped, making Mike stop with him. "Mike, wait. I need to talk to you."

-----

Jesse sat silently behind the wheel of the nondescript blue sedan and watched Brennan meeting a young man he obviously knew well across the street. Quickly, he used the micro-camera concealed in his com-ring to snap several pictures of the young man, then hesitated slightly, his finger poised above a link on the touchscreen of his palm computer. _I've already searched his room and followed him across town. What's a little eavesdropping at this point? _He thought to himself, and let his finger fall, and instantly the pickup from Brennan's ring began relaying their conversation to him.

_"My client is so eager to meet you. I told him you weren't in for sure, but I know you're not going to let me down."_

_"Mike, wait. I need to talk to you."_

_"We really don't have time, Brennan. I told you, my client is waiting, and he's the paranoid type. Of course, he has every reason to be. Now, listen. The job is a lot like the last one; a lot of complicated electronic security. You think you can handle that?"_

_"That's not the problem. Mike-"_

_"And just think of it, Brennan! Diamonds! We're after diamonds this time! We're graduating to the big leagues, Brennan!"_

_"What, the bank job wasn't enough to put us in the big leagues?"_

_"This is going to make the bank job look like knocking down a lemonade stand."_

Jesse had heard enough. He turned off the speaker and revved the car to life. So he had been right. Brennan hadn't changed at all.

-----

Mike was ready to lead him across the street, but Brennan made him stop. "Mike, would you just listen to me?" he said, cutting his friend off in midsentence. "I'm trying to tell you I'm not in this time."

Mike's face showed clearly that he didn't believe him. "You're joking, right? Come on, Brennan, it's you and me, man. Like always. Nothing's gonna change that."

"Something has."

A touch of fear lit in Mike's eyes and he took a little step back. "What are you talking about, Brennan?"

Brennan sighed. "I don't know how to put it gently, Mike. I've quit. I'm done with the criminal life. I can't do it anymore."

"Of course you can. I know you must have got a scare when those goons jumped you in the skycourse, but-"

Brennan shook his head impatiently. "You're not listening! It has nothing to do with that. Yeah, that was a catalyst, but not for the reasons you think. I'm not scared. Hell, most of the stuff I'm doing now's a damn sight more dangerous. It's just…it's _wrong_, Mike. There's a better way for me to use myself, my…talents, a better life. There's a better _me_ out there, Mike, and I'm going after him."

Mike sneered. "They really got your head turned around in that church, didn't they? What, did they tell you the devil's gonna get you if you don't repent your sinning ways?"

"No! That's not the point!" Brennan turned his face away as he paced a few steps, running his hands roughly through his hair. "It's just, I can be more than a criminal, Mike. I don't need to live by hurting other people, and neither do you." He turned back to his oldest friend and took him by the shoulders, pleading in his eyes. "Come on, Mike, you're so smart, you've got so much going for you. Let me help you, I know people who can get you set up in a whole new life, no ties to the past, a clean start. Get out of the life! It eats you inside, Mike, even if you don't feel it yet. Don't go meet that guy. You're better than him! You owe it to yourself!"

Mike shook himself away from Brennan's touch roughly. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're not the Brennan Mulwray I knew. I can't believe you could have changed so much. Do I even know you anymore, Brennan?"

Brennan felt like he was being torn in two. "Mike, I…please. Just, listen. It doesn't have to be like this, the hiding, the dirt, the fear, ruining lives. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. Please, Mike. Just leave it behind."

Mike shook his head. His eyes were the eyes of a man who has just realized he has stepped on someone else's chewing gum – full of disgust. "You're crazy, man. Seriously fucked in the head. You don't know what you're giving up, and if you think you can come back and make everything right when you come to your senses, you've got another thing coming. Now this is your last chance, Brennan. Are you coming or not?"

Brennan took a step back and shook his head mutely.

"Fine." Mike turned away, put his sunglasses on, and, without looking back, went on into the restaurant where his client was waiting.

End Chapter 3. Please, please do review!

A/N: I don't speak Tagalog, more's the pity. Source for this is the _Katálogo ng mga Apelyidong Pilipino_ (Catalogue of Filipino Names) by Hector Santos, found online (sorry can't post the url).


	4. Chapter 4: Where You Hang Your Hat

Disclaimer: MutantX and its associated characters, locales, etc. are the property of Tribune Entertainment _et alia_ and no copyright infringement of any kind is intended by the writing of this fiction. Non-canonical characters and locales (viz. Father Awa and St. John of the Cross church) are my own and I would appreciate it if other writers would obtain permission before using them.

Author's Note: Again, I can't say enough about how much the reviews are spurring me on with this story. I've known from the beginning how I basically wanted it to go (I actually have the concluding scene written, but not what comes before it!) but as I'm being encouraged I've been adding a lot to the basic outline. Please continue to offer your constructive criticism and thoughts. I anticipate there being about two chapters to go after this one, possibly three.

It may seem like I'm being a little unfair to Jesse in this story, but most of this story is based out of the first two episodes, and in those episodes, Jesse seems to have a fairly cautious nature, and though friendly to Brennan, he doesn't seem quite sure what to make of him. And Brennan isn't overly friendly to him, either; he pushes past Jesse after Jesse springs them from Eckhart's cage almost without a word, then later rejects Jesse's attempt at friendship (thanking him for the warning look at the safehouse. "You're just lucky I missed."). Jesse and Brennan's relationship builds slowly through the first season – I don't remember what episode it's from, but I remember Jesse saying something along the lines of "You keep pulling this criminal rank on me." I'm trying to make Jesse's actions very human, very protective of his team. Plus, it advances the plot. ;)

Please note: italics can indicate either personal thought, emphasis, or a flashback scene. Context should make it clear.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter Four

By Deichtine

Brennan spent about an hour after Mike walked away just driving around the city. His mind was preoccupied, and before he realized what he was doing, he had turned down the familiar side streets, and he soon found himself back in his old neighborhood. It had been nigh on four months since he'd been there last, but nothing seemed to have changed.

Slowly, slowly he cruised past his old apartment building, and his mind wandered, unbidden, back to the last time he'd been there. It was the same day he'd accepted a place in Mutant X, and after the ring ceremony Jesse had come with him to pick up his things.

Brennan opened the door and immediately began packing, while Jesse gazed around at the tiny bachelor suite.

_"You _live_ here?" Jesse asked incredulously._

_"I _sleep_ here," he corrected him over his shoulder, tossing the book from the bedside table into a duffle bag, then covering it with an armload of dirty laundry from the floor._

_"It's so...I don't know. The way you dress, I'd have expected something more..." Jesse trailed off, seeming to realize that going on would only plant his foot more deeply into his mouth._

_"More classy? Bigger? Nah. Jesse, when your whole life depends on your image, you invest your money into your appearance and your skills. It doesn't matter where your bed is or if you even have one. In my world, that's not where you live. Where you live is out on the streets, building your rep, building an image. That's how you get clients like-" He was going to say, 'like Brad Carter', but changed his mind. Jesse didn't need to know about that. "That's how you get the upscale clients, the big jobs."_

_Jesse nodded thoughtfully, opened the fridge, and immediately shut it again. "Nothing from in there is coming with us," he proclaimed, in a voice that brooked no disagreement._

_"No arguments here." There was silence for a few moments then, as Brennan cleared out the closet and Jesse poked about ineffectually._

_Finally, Jesse burst out, "I just don't get it. How could you live like this?"_

_Brennan dropped to his knees to reach for a box pushed far under the bed. "Like what?" he grunted, a little irritated._

_"With no real home."_

_"What do you think this is?"_

_'This isn't a home. It's a storage space for your stuff. How do you stand it?"_

_Brennan hauled the box out and put it on top of the duffel bag without ever looking inside. "Look, Jesse, I haven't had what you would consider a home since I was ten years old, and even then there were a lot of nights I'd have preferred to have spent on the streets. Can we just drop it, please?"_

Brennan had been barely creeping the car past the old apartment building, but as he passed it, he came back to himself and allowed his foot to fall heavily on the accelerator. There was no point in trying to feel nostalgia for that place. It hadn't been a home. It had been a flop.

And now Sanctuary was supposed to be his home. But Brennan had told Jesse the truth that day; he didn't know how to have a home anymore. What did it even mean?

Whatever it was, Brennan wasn't sure he could ever feel that way about Sanctuary. He wouldn't be there long enough anyway.

-----

Monday night, Brennan and the two girls had gone out on a routine mission to pick up a young mutant headed to the underground, but Jesse had remained behind, pleading a headache. They had not been gone long, however, when Jesse rose from the compute terminal where he'd been working and went in search of his team leader.

Adam was sitting in the lounge, the closest to idle Jesse had ever seen him. A half-eaten plate of stuffed grape leaves was balanced precariously on the arm of the chair. He had an engineer's sketchpad on his knee, a pencil in his hand, and a small recorder nearby to tape his spoken ruminations as he sketched out a rough design for a new device. From what Jesse could see of the designs, he couldn't make heads nor tails of its purpose, but he doubted he would want to be on the wrong end of the finished product.

"Um, Adam, got a second?"

"Sure, Jesse, what's up? Feeling better?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Jesse sat down, elbows on spread knees, hands clasped but with fingers fidgeting nervously. "Um... Adam, I have a confession to make."

Adam, seeing his young protégé's serious manner, set his sketch pad aside. "Go on."

As Adam listened, Jesse recounted how he'd watched Brennan leaving Sanctuary, how secretive and close the Elemental had seemed, how he'd followed him the day before.

"And yesterday, I caught up with him just in time to see him meeting up with this man." Jesse produced a photo printout from his pocket. "Michael Azarello. A known felon from Brennan's old neighbourhood. He's got a rap sheet as long as my arm and he's under suspicion for more.

"I know I shouldn't have, Adam, but I listened in on some of their conversation." He pressed a control on the computer pad he'd brought with him, and Brennan's voice sprang from its speakers.

Adam said nothing as Jesse replayed the recorded exchange between Mike and Brennan. "is that everything?" the older man asked when it was finished, and Jesse had turned it off.

"Yeah. Adam, I shouldn't have invaded Brennan's privacy, I know; it was wrong. But dammit, Adam, if he hasn't left that life behind, if he's still going to be sneaking off and robbing banks while we're all in bed, it puts the whole team at risk."

Adam rested his chin on his steepled fingers. "You're right, Jesse. You shouldn't have followed him, or invaded his privacy. You should have come to me the moment you thought something was wrong." He sighed heavily. "But you are also right that this looks very bad for Brennan. As much as I hate to admit that I might have been wrong about him, we have to face the possibility that he's not the man I thought he was."

Jesse nodded, and met Adam's eyes sadly. "I like him too, Adam."

Adam nodded. "I'll have a talk with him. Thank you for telling me about this." With that, he got up and walked away, leaving Jesse alone with his thoughts in the lounge.

-----

Mike Azarello was furious. His failure to bring in the promised electronics whiz, combined with his lateness to the meeting, had spooked the paranoid client Sunday morning, and now Mike had learned that it had cost him the job. Damn Brennan! How could he have done this to him, his oldest, closest friend? How _dared_ he?

Mike strode through the streets in a dark cloud of emotion, forcing himself to turn the wrenching feelings of hurt, betrayal, abandonment into cold fury, in a defense mechanism older by far than his friendship with Brennan Mulwray.

The man he thought of as closer than brother had just ruined his best chance to move up out of the streets to something better, but he would get his. _Let's see how long Brennan can cling to Jesus and this new life of his from behind bars._ Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a cell phone, punched in the programming that would make his call untraceable, and dialed a number.

"Yes, is this the tips line? I have information for you on a robbery that took place about four months ago, at the Hickman and Wrightson Securities building. The man responsible is named Brennan Mulwray. I don't know where he is now, but I bet I can tell you where he will be..."

End chapter 4.


	5. Chapter 5: Conflict and Reconciliation

Disclaimer: _MutantX_ and its associated characters, locales, etc. are the copyrighted property of Tribune Entertainment _et alia_ and no copyright infringement is intended in the writing of this story. Non-canonical characters, etc. and this story itself are my own and I would appreciate if other writers would request permission before using them. The lyrics beginning this chapter are taken from the song "The Other Side" from Michael W. Smith's album _I 2 (Eye)_ and are used here without permission but with resounding endorsement. Resounding. Really.

Author's Note: Again, thank you so much, reviewers! Keep up the good work! Especially those of you who have taken the time to leave such thoughtful and specific comments; I really appreciate it. Ghemstone: Mae govannen! Your review was a big boost for me. I'm also a big Tolkien fan since childhood. Hiya17735, unfortunately no, I won't be incorporating any Filipino (unsure how the adjective form works out) traditions beyond Fr. Awa's name. I would, but I just don't know enough about the culture/history at this point, and it's not a big element of the plot here. But maybe, just maybe, I might be convinced to bring Father Awa back in a subsequent story, and do the necessary research...if I get enough reviews requesting it. ;) ;)

This new QuickEdit thing keeps eating my asterisks and wreaks havoc if I attempt to include anything resembling a URL, so ----- separates scenes, and and indicate footnotes at the bottom of the page.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 5

By Deichtine

On Sunday morning, Jesse didn't set his alarm, and so did not see or hear Brennan rise from his bed and quickly dress to go out. Silently, he left his room and strode the length of the concourse toward the garage.

He had just laid his hand on the door handle when Adam's voice spoke from behind him.

"Brennan."

Brennan pulled his hand back as though burned, and only barely contained a yelp of surprise as he turned around. "Adam, you scared me." Almost immediately, the younger man noticed the serious, almost stern expression on his leader's face. He recognized it as Adam's 'asserting authority' expression. "Is something wrong?"

"That's up to you to decide." Brennan's confusion must have been obvious, for Adam continued without pause. "I need to talk to you about something. Where were you headed this morning?"

For just a split second, the idea of telling Adam the truth crossed Brennan's mind, but he immediately rejected it. Adam could never understand, and even if he could, would he believe him? What would he think of him? He'd think he was weak, stupid. Brennan barely thought before he shrugged and lied casually. "Just out. Thought I'd take a jog or something."

"In that coat." Brennan was wearing the long black coat he had worn the first day he joined MutantX. "Brennan, I know where you've been going on Sunday mornings."

Brennan blinked, and he felt his cheeks grow hot and his heart begin to beat faster. "You do? How?"

"That's not important right now. Right now, what's important is that you have betrayed my trust, and the trust of the whole team, and anyone this team has ever helped."

Brennan felt like he'd been slapped; his jaw fell open slightly in shock. "What? How?" he managed finally.

"When you joined this team, you told us you were ready to sever your ties with your old life, and I know how hard that can be, but I cannot allow this to continue. Brennan, did you ever think you getting involved in something like this could put us all in jeopardy?"

Brennan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure, Adam had always seemed to be more inclined towards New-Age eastern mysticism, or something to that effect – Brennan had never understood it – but he would never have expected he would be openly opposed to Brennan's going to a church. "I – no. I mean, it's not like I'm taking vows, here. I don't understand why this is such a problem for you."

"How much have you told him about us?"

Brennan was getting angry now. "Nothing. Adam, I'm not stupid. I don't get you, man. You're all guilty about everything that happened at Genomex, so obsessed with riding your moral high horse, with finding redemption, but you won't let me find mine?"

Adam crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. "If you're looking for redemption, Brennan, you're looking in all the wrong places."

Brennan felt his blood go cold, and he felt his jaw clench. He felt like he was seeing Adam for the first time. "Yeah. I think I see that now." He turned again towards the door, but Adam's voice, sharp with warning, stopped him.

"Brennan! I hate to say this, but I can't keep giving you second chances. I won't stop you from leaving, but I have to tell you, you're making a choice right now. If you go out that door, you're leaving Mutant X behind." His face was like flint.

Brennan swallowed, his back still to the man he had started to consider a father-figure, then set his jaw. "I can't believe how wrong I was abut you," he said quietly, then roughly pulled the door open and walked out, allowing it to swing shut behind him.

When he was gone, Adam walked slowly back to the steps leading up to the dojo, and lowered himself heavily to sit on the stairway, his head in his hands.

_Oh God,_ he thought. _What have I done?_

_-----_

When Brennan arrived at the church, the service had already begun, and he slipped into a place near the back. He found it difficult to focus on what was going on around him, however; his mind insisted on replaying his fight with Adam, again and again. Why had Adam reacted the way he did? Why would his Catholicism be such a problem for MutantX? He hadn't signed up for the parish potluck and got his name in any databases or anything like that. All he'd done is have a few chats with a priest, for heaven's sake! And though he was normally the last to trust someone to be what they seemed on the surface, Father Awa was the last person he'd ever suspect of being a GSAgent.

He returned to himself briefly to find that the congregation was seated all around him and the first reading was beginning, and, embarrassed, he quickly sat as well, but immediately his mind returned to its former path. He felt like crying, shouting, punching something, anything! _Why, God?_ He demanded silently._ I thought you wanted me to come to you. I was just trying to do something right for a change. Why does everything that I try to do good in this world always turn out so wrong? Oh, God, I wanted it to work, so much...What do I do now?_

He brooded thus throughout the hour-long Mass, rousing himself from his introspection only long enough to stand or sit, to exchange the obligatory handshakes at the Sign of Peace.

The closing hymn had barely finished when he looked up to see Father Awa headed towards him, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Brennan looked up at him, rolling his eyes upward without moving his head.

"No thanks, Father. I don't want to talk about it."

Awa's eyebrow rose a little further. "_Kapag apaw na ang takalan, kailangan kalus an_" he pronounced, and at the stream of unfamiliar words, Brennan finally really looked up at him.

"What?"

"It's an old Tagalog proverb. 'When the pot is running over, you need to spill some' . Your pot has been boiling over ever since you walked in here this morning, and it's been running all over the floor and making a heck of a mess. So come on and we'll spill you properly."

Brennan couldn't help but smile a little at Awa's gentle chiding, and, pushing himself up on the back of the pew in front of him, he followed the priest back into his little office.

"You know," he remarked as they took their seats, "You really are a very nosy guy. Is that something they teach you guys at priest school or something?"

"Seminary," Awa corrected him as he hung his vestments on the back of the door and sat down. "It's called a seminary."

"Oh, sorry. My mistake."

"And no, I'm just naturally a very nosy man. I'm also an...um...how do you say it? A _matigas_ _ang ulo_...a hard-head, a stubborn man . Come on, Bubbly-pot, spill your beans. What has happened, that you look so pale?"

Brennan told him how Adam had confronted him that morning, and the ultimatum he had given him.

Awa digested this a moment. "Well, from the fact that you are here, I can guess what you chose. But, Brennan, tell me. Why were you hiding your faith? Why didn't you just tell him the truth about it in the beginning?"

Brennan sighed, stood up, and paced a little in the tight quarters. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't think he'd understand." Father Awa just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "Okay, that's not all. I was...ashamed, I guess. Going to Church on Sunday morning, 'finding Jesus,' as Mike would put it, just didn't seem to jive with who I was to them, the Brennan they know. To them, I'm the street-wise tough guy who's always got the smart comeback. I didn't want to look...weak."

Father Awa nodded in understanding. "Brennan, honesty is never weakness," he said, more gently now. "Often, it is the courage to be honest that requires the most strength. Don't you see? You haven't been honest with them either. You said it yourself – you are not letting them see the real you, only your mask, and these sound like very perceptive people. Are you really so surprised they didn't feel they could trust you?"

Brennan scrubbed his fingers roughly through his hair, causing it to stand up in spiky disarray. "I guess you're right. But that still doesn't explain how weird Adam was acting this morning."

"That's true. But something tells me, Brennan, that neither one of you knows the whole story here, and that if you go to Adam and be honest with him – about everything – you will find him willing to admit he was mistaken."

"So I'm just supposed to show up at Sanc- at his place and say I'm sorry, let's talk?" Brennan asked incredulously. Awa nodded, completely serious. Brennan shook his head, then finally asked ruefully, "Don't I need to do some gambling, and feed some pigs or something first?"

The old priest laughed aloud. "No, no, no, nothing so smelly as all that. But if you really want to start fresh, you have to empty the pot completely, clean it out. Did you give any thought to what I asked you about last week?"

"What, Confession? Yeah, I guess."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. It still seems kind of weird."

"Well, really, it's no different than how we've been talking, you know. Just more – well, sacred. And when you are finished, you will be free from the sins you have been carrying around with you. It's rough, but it cleanses."

Brennan grinned. "Kind of a spiritual scouring pad, eh?"

Father Awa chuckled and returned the grin. "Exactly. _S.O.S. – Save Our Souls_." He reached across the desk and opened one of the drawers to withdraw a long, narrow purple strip of cloth. He kissed the stole, the kiss of an old friend, and placed it around his neck, leaving the ends hanging down in front.

"So am I supposed to kneel or something?" Brennan asked, feeling suddenly awkward as the atmosphere in the room seemed to somehow to have become hushed, expectant.

"You can if you want, but most people just prefer to sit in the chair there. I can look away if it makes you more comfortable."

Brennan shook his head and sat down again. "Nah, that's okay." Following Father Awa's example, he made the sign of the cross, and took a deep breath. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I hope you're nice and comfy – this might take awhile."

-----

When Brennan left the church, he felt somehow, indefinably lighter, as though a weight he hadn't been aware he was carrying had been lifted from him. If he'd had to describe it aloud, he would have said it was like having very long, thick hair, and then having it cut very short, all at once. He felt...free.

At first, he almost didn't notice the two police cruisers parked in front of the church. His distraction quickly evaporated, however, as a man in a tan overcoat, who had been leaning against the hood of one of the cars, pulled a badge from an inside pocket of his tan overcoat and approached him, accompanied by another officer in uniform. Suddenly, Brennan was very aware of the fact that, hovering near the cruisers, two more uniformed officers were waiting, watching alertly, hands ready on the pistol butts at their hips.

"Brennan Mulwray?" the man in the overcoat asked him as Brennan reached the bottom of the steps.

Brennan nodded warily. "Yeah."

"Detective Lewis." The man put his badge back in his pocket. "You're under arrest for armed robbery and accessory to insurance fraud, as well as four counts of theft. Put your hands on the hood of the car please." As Brennan leaned against the car, "assuming the position" and the man efficiently patted him down for weapons and launched into the Miranda rights, Brennan thought how easy it would be to knock down the overconfident detective, send a tesla coil at the one uniform while spinning to meet the others, and make his escape. He could see each move in his mind's eye, and over a decade of street living made effecting that escape almost instinctive. How easy it would be. Compared to the GSA, these guys were nothing.

But instead, he set his jaw, and did not resist as his hands were cuffed tightly behind him and he was steered towards the backseat of the cruiser. As he lifted a long leg into the car, he looked back up at the church and saw Father Awa watching from the doorway. The priest looked sad, but when he caught Brennan's eye, he nodded, and smiled his gentle encouragement. Then a hand on Brennan's head urged him into the car, and they left the church behind.

-----

Adam was in the lab, trying in vain to distract himself from his troubled emotions by calibrating the DNA extracting laser, when he heard footsteps pounding down the concourse. A moment later Jesse appeared, running hard, and skidded to a stop in the doorway. "Adam!" he said, breathing hard.

"We have com rings for a reason, you know," Adam remarked as the young man caught his breath.

Jesse waved com rings aside impatiently. "Adam," he repeated. "You've gotta come see Proxy Blue. The police have just arrested the Hickman and Wrightson thief."

"And?"

"It's Brennan."

End of Chapter 5.

Sorry for the short chapter! Next chapter should be longer; this is probably the third last.

**1. **Hiya17735, these little bits of Tagalog are for you. The proverb comes from John Reyes' article "Salawikain: Filipino Proverbs" found online at **h t t p : w w w . a n g e l f i r e . c o m / o n 4 / z a m b a l e s f o r u m / f i l i p i n o p r o v e r b s . h t m **

**2. **This idiom comes from the list of Tagalog idioms at the Seasite Project at Northern Illinois University, found online at **h t t p : w w w . s e a s i t e . n i u . e d u / T a g a l o g / T a g a l o g m a i n p a g e . h t m**


	6. Chapter 6: Strategy

Disclaimer: _Mutant X_ and its associated characters, locales, etc. are the property of Tribune Entertainment _et alia_ (though big tongue-sticking-out-at Fireworks Entertainment for deciding to drop the show. Though it does make sound business sense. Curse that business sense). No copyright infringement of any kind is intended, and I am not profiting from the writing of this story beyond some writing experience and basking in the warm glow of nice reviews. Non-canonical characters are my own and I would prefer if I were consulted before someone used them.

Author's Note: No big long rambles this time, promise. Just a huge thanks to those who have kept reviewing and encouraging me, and an apology for the delay in updates. Who among us has not known the plague of writer's block?

Details note – for the details of the Hickman & Wrightson heist, I watched it carefully a few times. I took the date as a day after the original air date of October 1, as in the episode it's the second day shown. The clocks you see in passing at the H&W aren't perfectly consistent (of course) but it looks to be roughly 4:10 when they come in, and close to 4:15 on their way out.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 6

By Deichtine

"Tilt your head down a bit, please," said the man behind the camera, sounding every bit as bored as Brennan was impatient. The booking procedures seemed interminable. Brennan had never been blessed with the virtue of patience, and today what little he had was being stretched to the limit. He bit back the smart remarks that kept leaping to mind every time the officers spoke to him, and tried to will himself to relax. Why be impatient anyway? Where was he in such a hurry to go?

After the mug shots had been taken and his fingerprints had been scanned came the obligatory questions.

"Name?"

"Brennan Mulwray. No middle name. M-U-L-W-R-A-Y."

"Date of birth."

Brennan told him.

"Current address."

Brennan hesitated. He couldn't very well say "a secret fortress beneath Stormking Mountain" – though he was tempted to, out of sheer pig-headedness – but Sanctuary wasn't really his home anymore anyway. He thought of his old apartment, but it would soon be apparent, should anyone investigate, that he hadn't lived there for some time. He shrugged. "No fixed address. I stay in motels, mostly. Hostels, shelters, whatever." It was only then that it really hit him – it was true: he really was homeless now, alone in a way he had never been before, not since he was a boy and his mother had just died. Even in the worst of his foster homes he had had friends; when he was out on the street he'd always had Mike. Now, since Mutant X had rejected him, and Mike wanted nothing more to do with him, he had no one.

As if to drive the point home, the booking officer chose that moment to look up from his form and ask, "Next of kin, or emergency contact?"

-----

Even as Brennan was being brought from booking to an interview room for questioning, Adam, Jesse, Shalimar, and Emma were meeting in Sanctuary.

Emma was pale with worry, and Shalimar was sitting uncharacteristically still, cross-legged, on a reddish table/holographic display panel which protruded from the wall, her expression a mixture of anger, impatience, and unhappy introspection. Jesse was standing, arms folded, behind Shalimar, and Adam faced them with heavy heart. How could he start? He knew they were all feeling much the same way he was himself: confused, unwilling to believe they could have been so wrong about the tall Elemental, unsure if they should accept the situation as it appeared.

Adam was spared the difficulty of having to figure out how to break the silence, however; Emma did it for him.

"We have to get Brennan out of there. What are we waiting for?"

"I agree, Emma," Adam said carefully, "but we have to think about the best way to do it, formulate a plan."

"I'm not so sure I see why we have to get him out," Shalimar said quietly, her voice level, controlled. "If he's been lying to us all this time, why shouldn't we just let him sit in jail?" Her brown eyes burned, at the very edge of being overcome by the gold sign of her feral nature.

Jesse nodded, his blue eyes cold. "I'm inclined to agree with Shal on that one," he said.

Emma shook her head, her hurt confusion plain on her face. "No, you guys, Brennan's changed. I've _felt_ it." But even to herself, her protestation sounded weak.

"Emma," Adam said gently, "I know you try not to sense your friends, but what have you been picking up from Brennan the most in the past few weeks?"

Emma opened her mouth, closed it again, let her breath out through her nose. "Okay, guilt, mostly. And that he's hiding something. But –"

Adam cut her off. "I know that all of you wanted to believe in Brennan, wanted things to work out – God knows I did too. But no matter how hurt or confused we are, we can't let him stay in jail. Things just aren't that simple for Mutant X."

"He's a sitting duck for the GSA," Shalimar realized. She sighed, and her manner softened – slightly. "Okay, I'm with Emma. I want to punch Brennan in the face, kick him the length of Sanctuary and back, sure, but I wouldn't wish _that_ on him."

"Not to mention that Brennan knows the location of Sanctuary and every New Mutant we've helped into the underground since he came," Jesse pointed out.

"Exactly," Adam said, pointing at the younger man.

"So what do we do, then?" Emma asked.

Adam pursed his lips, thinking. "It's easy enough to get Brennan out physically. You three are more than capable of that even without his cooperation. The real challenge here is going to be covering our tracks. We have to do this as quietly – which means as legally – as we can; that means no brawls or mysterious vanishings. When this is all over, it has to be settled as far as the police are concerned. Getting Brennan out just to have his face on a wanted poster on every street corner isn't going to help matters.

"So Jesse, I need you to trace Brennan's steps for me as far as you can. Find this Mike Azarello character, find out what he knows, what he and Brennan were up to. Shalimar, you and I are going to go in to the police and DA records systems, find out what evidence they have against him, and if we can discredit it."

"What do I do?" Emma asked.

Adam raised an eyebrow and handed her a palm computer from his jacket pocket. "Study law. You're Brennan's new public defense attorney."

-----

The interview room looked just like they always did on TV – dingy grey walls, heavy door, shaded one-way window. Brennan fidgeted as he waited, tapping the edge of the steel handcuffs rhythmically on the tabletop in front of him. What were they _doing _out there?

Finally the door opened, and the detective who had arrested him, Lewis, entered, carrying a thick manila file. He settled himself in a chair across from Brennan.

"Mr. Mulwray. Just for the record, I'm going to ask you, are you aware of your right to legal counsel, and that counsel can be provided to you at your request?"

Brennan nodded. "Yeah. I watch _Law and Order_. I know the process."

The detective wrote something down on a pad in front of him. "Do you wish to request counsel?"

Brennan shook his head. "Nah. I don't need a lawyer. I don't imagine there's going to be a lot to argue about. Pretty open and shut, don't you think?"

Lewis leaned back. "I wouldn't be so self-assured, Mr. Mulwray. You may think you have an airtight alibi – which I'd be interested to hear, by the way – but I have to warn you, the evidence against you is very strong at this point."

"Strong enough for an arrest warrant, anyway," Brennan said with a wry smile. "Well, that's not really what I meant, but it doesn't matter, I guess." He deliberately looked away from the man to squint up at the ceiling lights. The man irked him, for a reason he couldn't identify, and he couldn't help trying to annoy him.

"So tell me, Mr. Mulwray, what do you have to say for yourself? Where were you at approximately 4:10 on the afternoon of October 2 of last year?"

Brennan furrowed his brow, as if thinking hard. "Well, you certainly are specific. That was a long time ago; it's hard to remember. OH, right, the second. I ran some errands. Went to the bank, as I recall."

The man was now visibly irritated, but he was doing a fine job of controlling it. "Do you recall which bank, Mr. Mulwray? We haven't been able to find evidence of any bank account in your name in the country."

Brennan shrugged. "I don't have one. I don't trust their security systems. But yeah, it was the Hickman and Wrightson."

The man stared at him, and Brennan smiled blandly, knowing that by oh-so-casually confessing to the crime he would confuse the heck out of the detective. He had decided from the very beginning not to fight the charge; it was true, after all, and he had already confessed it to God. He couldn't very well deny it now to this little man, nor did he feel any impulse to do so. But he also figured, if he was going to sign the next several years of his life away to federal prison, he might as well confess with style. He'd never been much for authority figures.

"And what, pray tell, were you doing at the Hickman and Wrightson that day, if you don't hold an account there?"

"You might call it a professional visit. Purely business."

"And that business would be?"

Brennan figured he'd had enough fun. "Theft. Burglary, Larceny, Stealing, Robbery, whatever you want to call it. Specifically, I was there to withdraw the contents of a particular security deposit box against the wishes of the bank's management. And I did a damn fine job of it, too."

Detective Lewis, taken off guard, flicked a glance at the one-way glass and the colleagues he knew were watching. "Well, that's straightforward enough," he said finally. "Are you willing to sign a statement to that effect?" he asked.

Brennan nodded casually, lounging back in his chair and stretching his long legs out to the side. "Sure thing. Though if you don't mind, I write a lot better without the handcuffs. I mean, if I'd wanted to fight you guys on this, you'd never have gotten them on me in the first place."

Lewis shook his head as he stood up. "You can't begin to know how much that inspires me to trust you. Sorry, the cuffs stay on till we get you back to holding. I'm going to go get the paperwork, and the sooner we get that done, the sooner you can go make yourself at home in your cell." He turned towards the door and knocked on it.

"Hey, Lewis," Brennan called out. "Like I said, pretty open and shut." Outwardly, Brennan knew he was the very picture of cool, but inwardly, the magnitude of what he'd just done was beginning to hit him. He couldn't take it back now. It was done.

_Oh, God. I sure hope you're still with me here, 'cause I really think I'm gonna need someone before this is all over._

End Chapter 6.

What do we call those things, anyway?


	7. Chapter 7: Revelations

**Disclaimer:** MutantX and its associated characters, locales, etc. belong to Tribune Entertainment et al and I claim no ownership of them and intend no copyright infringement. Original characters and locales such as Father Awa, Detective Lewis, and St. John of the Cross church are my own and I would appreciate being consulted if someone wishes to use them.

**Author's Note:** I laughed and laughed when I realized how my question at the bottom of chapter 6 was interpreted (at my own fault). I hadn't intended to ask what one calls the # symbol (pound, number sign, crosshatch, sharp sign, word boundary, whatever). Since QuickEdit keeps eating all my asterisks (which is really really annoying) I've been substituting #, and so the # at the bottom of the page was intended to refer back to one I'd placed in the narrative to refer to the comment, just like you would with an asterisk. Sorry for the confusion! I think I'll go back to numbered footnotes for that purpose. (NB: 06/28/06 - I changed the # to + as I've been going through the chapters trying to make it consistent.)

This one's a short chapter – but more will come soon, promise.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 7

By Deichtine

When Lewis returned to the interview room, he came armed with three cups of coffee and one partner, who was introduced as the prosecuting attorney for the case. For what seemed like hours – and probably was – they questioned Brennan about the details of the crime. How had they been contacted by Carter? Where was his portion of the payoff? Brennan answered straightforwardly as much as he could, being bluntly truthful as he ignored the coffee and idly played with the cup. But soon the questions became too sensitive, and it was harder to be straightforward.

"What exactly did you do to the security systems?"

Brennan shifted slightly in his seat. "I shorted them out."

"The forensics report shows that the wires were actually fused. How could you have done that?"

"I have some pretty useful tools."

Lewis leaned forward onto the table. "Come on, Mulwray, standard procedure is not to directly apply high-voltage electricity where wire cutters will do."

"Well, we all have our little idiosyncrasies. I like to work with high voltage. It gives me a real charge."

Lewis declined to acknowledge the pun, though the attorney behind him grimaced. "Fine. Moving on. Eyewitness statements show that there were three of you, working as a team, that day. And though we have some leads on your partners, we lack sufficient evidence for an arrest."

"And if I roll on them, you'll have it. Sorry, but I can't help you."

"Can't, or won't?"

Brennan sat back in the chair. "You choose. They have to make that decision for themselves."

"Like you did?"

Brennan nodded.

Lewis looked unimpressed. "I seem to recall several armed men being there when we brought you in."

Brennan snapped back, "I seem to recall several armed men at the bank that day."

"Gentlemen," The attorney broke in. "I think we're getting off topic. Mr. Mulwray, I can offer you a much reduced sentence in exchange for your cooperation in this matter."

Brennan sighed. "Sorry. But putting them in prison right now would only hurt them to no purpose and prevent any chance of them changing. I'm not going to turn them in. Contrary to popular belief, detective," he said, turning back to Lewis, "there is sometimes honour among thieves."

Lewis leaned in towards him. "It was one of them who turned you in, Brennan. Did you know that? He called in a telling us exactly where to find you. Doesn't that make you want to get even at all?"

Brennan's lips pressed together in a thin line. It had to be Mike. Tony had already betrayed him once and wouldn't have cared enough to do it again, not after all this time, and he wouldn't know Brennan well enough to trust him not to roll on him. But Mike – it had to have been Mike. The hurt welled up in him, flooding his heart, and he took a deep breath in through his nose. He would deal with that later – right now he had to concentrate.

"No."

Lewis pushed himself back from the table. "I can't believe I'm actually wishing a criminal would be more despicable," he said, to no one in particular.

Brennan raisedhis eyebrows. "I think I'll take that as a compliment."

Suddenly they were interrupted as the door opened and a young woman, her face troubled, motioned urgently for the two interviewers to join her outside the room. Even through the door and the thick one-way glass, Brennan could hear the murmur of the voices, full of agitation. He strained to hear more, but could not make out their words. At one point, he heard Lewis's voice, raised in anger and disbelief. "They're doing _what_?"

When Lewis and the attorney returned, Lewis looked furious, but the attorney looked troubled. He sat down across from Brennan, where Lewis had sat before, and looked Brennan directly in the eye.

"Mr. Mulwray, I normally don't get involved in a defendant's choice of counsel, but in this case, I want to speak not as the prosecuting attorney – well, I'm not anymore anyway – but as a man. Get yourself a defense lawyer, the best you can find. You're going to need one."

Brennan stared at him. "What's going on?" he demanded.

In answer, the attorney passed him a set of documents, forms covered in signatures and stamps. Brennan took them, glanced at them, and looked back up at the prosecutor. "What are these?" he asked.

The man folded his hands together on the table in front of him. "Basically, what they say is that a federal government Agency is taking over custody of you, claiming a prior offense."

"What offense?" Brennan demanded.

"They won't tell us the original offense, but they do say that you escaped federal custody."

A horrible suspicion began to form in Brennan's mind. "What Agency?"

"I've never even heard of them before. Does the Genetic Security Agency mean anything to you?" He paused, looking at Brennan's face, and nodded. "I see it does. Now, I and everyone here has looked through these forms for any flaw that could allow us to fight it – Lewis here has been working on this case for months, and we're not willing to give up seeing it through without a fight. But if you look at the signatures on these forms, this GSA has cut straight through the red tape all the way up. Frankly, it's frightening how fast they've managed to bypass all of the regular paperwork and go straight to the top, but they have, and there's absolutely nothing we can do."

Brennan was staring at the forms in front of him, at the one signature marked "Executive Director for petitioning Agency". In bold, clear letters the name was written: _Mason Eckhart_. The white-haired head of the GSA saw no reason to ornament his signature with superfluous swirls or scribbles, but the name was underlined twice, the pen pressed with such force that it had almost gone through the paper.

And the scar on the back of his neck began to burn.

-----

Mike Azarello left the bar, a little unsteadily, and started towards home. He had not gone far, however, before an unfamiliar young man began walking straight towards him. Mike took one look at the expression on the blond's face and bolted.

Implacably, the man pursued him, gaining slowly, but surely. Mike desperately ran towards a brick building, then dodged to the side to go around it, hoping that his pursuer, still a ways behind, would not see which way he had gone. As he ran along the wall, he looked back and there was no sign of him. Cautiously, Mike slowed, then stopped, straining to hear footsteps, but all was silent. With a sigh of frightened relief, he began walking again, determined to get home as fast as he could. He reached the corner of the building, turned –

-- And was astonished to see the very substance of the wall seem to waver as the man walked straight through it to block his path. With a rock-hard grip he took hold of Mike's coat and pushed him roughly up against the wall.

"Mike Azarello?" he asked.

Mike looked down at him. "Who wants to know?"

Jesse's response was to slam him back again into the wall. "Right now that's not your biggest concern."

Mike licked his lips. "Yeah, I'm him. What do you want from me?"

"Who are you working for?"

"No one."

Jesse's eyes, if it were possible, grew harder, and he lifted the man a little ways off the ground. "Try again."

"I'm telling you the truth. I haven't had a client in months."

"Then I guess you won't mind telling me what you and Brennan Mulwray have been planning these past few weeks."

At Brennan's name, Azarello's eyes narrowed in anger and disgust. "Mulwray?" He almost spat the word. "I don't know where you're getting your information, but I'm not planning anything with that...that...there isn't even a word for what he is."

"Explain."

"Look, a few months back, Mulwray, me, and another guy did a job at a bank, right? Opened a safety deposit box for a client. I don't know how the police knew to go after Brennan for it, but they caught him. Then early this month I see him out walking on the street – he says he got away from the cops right after they got him and he's been hiding out. I had a lead on a job at the time, and, well, Brennan was like my brother, you know? So I talked to my client, bent over backwards convincing him to let me bring Brennan on. And when I asked Mulwray, the bastard had the gall to refuse me. I totally stuck my neck out for him and he betrayed me. So not only has he abandoned me for months after the bank, but then he gets religion and goes all soft."

Jesse's grip slackened in surprise, and Mike's feet touched the ground. "He got _what?"_

With an offended shove, Mike pushed Jesse back and straightened his coat. "Religion. He 'found the Lord' or whatever you call it. I had to meet him outside a church, for God's sake. He said he's gotten out of the life, started over. Even asked me to go with him, said he'd help me start over, clean slate. As if I want to spend my days saying 'yes sir' to some boss at a desk. Out here, I'm my own boss, and I like it that way, and not Brennan and not God are gonna get me to change."

Jesse's eyes were wide. Sunday mornings – St. John of the Cross Church – it suddenly made sense. "Are you sure?" he demanded. He grabbed Mike's lapels again and shook him, hard. "Are you _sure?"_

Mike shoved him away again. "Yeah, I'm sure. Sure enough to tell the police to find him at the church. And they did, too, just like I said."

Jesse's eyes grew frosty again. "You turned him in?"

Mike was now really starting to get pissed off. "Look, he betrayed me. He was just getting what he deserved."

Jesse couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had been so wrong – and it was all the fault of this petty criminal. Without even thinking, he reared back and punched the other man full in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. "That's for making me doubt my friend," he said, then picked him up again only to punch him again, in the stomach. "And that's just because you deserved it."

Leaving Mike groaning on the pavement, he turned and strode off, speaking into his com ring as he went. "Adam, I've made a big mistake."

End of Chapter 7.


	8. Chapter 8: Steel yourself

Disclaimer: _MutantX_ and its associated characters, locales, etc. belong to Tribune Entertainment _et al_ and I claim no ownership of them and intend no copyright infringement. Original characters and locales such as Father Awa, Detective Lewis, and St. John of the Cross church are my own and I would appreciate being consulted if someone wishes to use them.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story and forgiven how long it's taken me to get updates posted. There will be one chapter after this, probably in the next few days, but it'll be a shorter one.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 8

By Deichtine

Brennan paced the small holding cell restlessly. Before he had learned about the GSA's involvement, he had wanted nothing more than for the questioning to be over and to get back to the cell to lie down and think. He had been confident that he could handle going to prison, wait it out and accept it – unrealistically so, he now realized - but now that the GSA were coming, all of his confidence had left him, and he began to feel the closeness of the walls around him. Why hadn't he taken the opportunity to escape when he had the chance? Now that he was in the middle of the police department, surrounded by armed officers, things were not just so simple as sending a jolt through the lock and fighting his way out. The police might not fight so well hand-to-hand or react as quickly as GSAgents, but GSAgents don't carry guns. He was trapped.

-----

Adam and Shalimar, eyes sore and dry from hours spent in front of the computer screen, searched doggedly through the police case file. Unfortunately, it looked like the case against him was very good, and the police had lacked only his whereabouts for the arrest warrant until the anonymous caller gave them his location. When Carter had been picked up for insurance fraud, he had been quick to try to roll over on the three thieves who had done his dirty work for him, but they had sensibly refused to give him their full names or any personal information. However, not too many criminal e-men were over 6 feet tall and strikingly handsome, and Carter had immediately ID'd him from the picture in his police record, and other eyewitnesses agreed. As a clincher, the police had found Brennan's fingerprints both in the bank itself, and inside Carter's car.

"I don't know how we're going to fight this, Adam," Shalimar said. "Their case is solid."

Adam sighed. "I know. We can't even get them on tampering with the evidence – everything's been documented almost to a fault. Brennan was mirandized before witnesses and on the record, and – oh, damn!"

Shalimar moved over to look at his screen. "What?"

"Look – the transcript of his questioning is starting to be entered into the system. Not only has he refused counsel, but he's signed a full confession."

Emma looked up from the nearby table where she'd been trying to prepare for her pose as Brennan's attorney. "He's refused counsel?"

Adam nodded. "And confessed. I think we're going to need a new plan."

Shalimar returned to her screen, and refreshed the information so that she could see what Adam was seeing – and her eyes widened. "And we're going to need it fast. Look – the GSA are taking over custody of Brennan!"

"Already!" Adam asked, incredulously. "How did they manage to do that so fast?"

"They must have someone on the inside," Emma reasoned.

"Get into the GSA system, would you?" Adam said, moving to Shalimar's shoulder to watch. "We need to intercept their agents before they can reach the station."

Pride was in Adam's eyes as he watched the feral effortlessly moved through firewalls and backdoors to invade the Genomex system. "There – stop. Damn, they're already moving."

"Don't waste any time, do they?" Shalimar murmured.

Adam's eyes were scanning the scrolling text quickly. "Looks like they're sending a 6-man team, with an agent Joanna Gleason in the lead." He thought for a moment. "Shalimar, can you and Jesse take them down?"

Shalimar smiled. "Do you really need to ask?"

Suddenly, Jesse's voice spoke from the com system. "Adam, I've made a big mistake."

"Jesse, I'm glad you called. Look, there's a team of GSAgents on the way to the police station to pick up Brennan. I'm sending Shalimar and Emma, and I want you to meet them at…the corner of 9th and Harrington to intercept the GSAgents. Then you can change clothes and go get Brennan."

"Change clothes?" Jesse and Shalimar said together.

"Shalimar will bring a GSA uniform for you. You guys are going to take their places."

Emma looked up. "But Adam, I can't really fight yet. What am I supposed to do?"

"I should think that would be obvious – Agent Gleason."

"But Adam," Jesse spoke again. "I have to tell you – "

"Not now. Get moving. There's absolutely no time to waste here."

"I'm on my way, but Adam?"

"Yes, Jesse, what is it?"

"I want you to get in touch with the priest at St. John of the Cross church and ask about Brennan."

"What?"

"Just do it." With that, Jesse broke the connection.

"Okay, you guys. Let's get moving."

-----

The fight was fierce, but swift. Emma watched from a safe vantage point as the GSAgents drove up to the roadblock she and Shalimar had improvised from the old Ford and several garbage cans and cardboard boxes. They jumped out of their cars, and an imperious-looking woman with long red hair yelled something at the uniformed agents, pointing at the roadblock commandingly. Obediently, the agents approached the garbage cans – only to meet Jesse and Shalimar, fists and feet flying. There were six agents and two Mutant X members, but the agents, predictably, had the worst of it. Apparently, either none of them were mutants, or they had never been trained on their powers, but none of them evinced any special abilities. Shalimar and Jesse didn't have that problem.

Emma cried out involuntarily as she saw an agent approaching Jesse's turned back, his stunner raised high, but as he brought it down he was surprised to find his hand went right through the suddenly intangible young man, and he hit the agent who had been grappling with Jesse only seconds before and now stumbled when he lost his grip on the younger man, losing his balance. A third agent was already on the ground.

Shalimar had engaged three of the agents at once. Her blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, which swung wildly through the air as she twisted to send her booted foot into the face of one of her attackers.

Emma was startled from her anxious watching as she felt a vice-like grip close on her arm and pull her up and out of her hiding spot. She found herself face-to-face with the red-haired agent Gleason. Her green eyes were triumphant, her thin lips stretched into a smile. "Emma de Lauro," she said. "Now won't Mr. Eckhart be pleased when I bring back you and Mulwray together?"

Emma's eyes widened in fright, and she struggled to pull her arm away, but Gleason's grip was firm. "Please, don't take me back there," she began to plead piteously. "I can't bear it, please – Ow!" Suddenly her ankle turned, and her weight shifted heavily to her left foot, where the high-heeled shoe was sideways on the ground, her foot still in it. "My shoe!" She bent down to fix it, and came up with her hand curled into a fist. With a growl she drove her fist into Gleason's stomach, wrenching her other arm away as the agent's grip reflexively loosened. As the proud agent doubled over, gasping, Emma followed it up with a hard punch to the woman's jaw, then stepped away to see Shalimar and Jesse watching her, grinning.

"Good job," Jesse said.

Emma rubbed her fist tenderly. "Does it always hurt that much when you hit someone?"

"You get used to it. And you learn the right way to hit," Shalimar said, and casually stepped forward to deliver a kick to Gleason, who was trying to push herself up off the ground.

-----

Adam entered the dark little church with unaccustomed nervousness. The hushed atmosphere seemed somehow expectant, and yet Adam had no idea why he was here.

Adam slowly walked up the centre aisle, looking around at the artwork, the candles, the flower-decked altar. He had stood there perhaps a minute when a voice broke the silence.

"Good afternoon." The voice was coming from a short but stout older man, his features dark and somehow exotic-looking. His simple black shirt had a Roman collar at the throat. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. Are you the priest of this parish, Father?" Adam asked respectfully.

"Yes. My name is Fernando Awa."

"Adam," Adam shook the little priest's hand. "Father, this may sound a little strange, but have you ever seen this man?" From a pocket in his suit jacket, Adam produced a snapshot of Brennan.

"Ah, yes, the young man with the sad eyes. Brennan." Adam's eyes must have betrayed his surprise, for Awa continued, "He's been coming here to Mass the past month or so. A troubled young man, but I have great hope for him."

"He's been coming to church on Sunday mornings? Brennan?"

Awa nodded. "Yes. And he and I have had some talks. May I assume that you are the same Adam of whom Brennan spoke? The friend at whose home he has been staying at?"

Adam nodded. "Yes. Um, if you don't mind my asking, I'm a little curious. What did Brennan tell you about me?"

"Oh, not much, really. Just that you had been helping him to get off the street, gave him a job, and so on. He really looks up to you, you know."

Adam's eyes filled with held-back emotion. "I don't really know how to ask this, but…do you know if Brennan has been involved in anything…criminal…lately?" He winced. "That came out all wrong. It's just that, well, Brennan's been sneaking out on the weekends, and he and I had a bit of a fight. I'm beginning to think maybe…"

"You assumed the worst?" Awa surmised, his eyes watching Adam speculatively. "Yes, I know. Brennan told me about it the last time we spoke. He thought that you were angry with him for coming here to the church, but I was certain it must have been a misunderstanding. Was I right?"

"Yes. I had no idea he was coming here. We…one of the other people working for me saw Brennan leaving one Sunday morning, and followed him to see where he was going, and saw him talking to a known criminal from Brennan's past."

Awa nodded. "I understand now. Mike. Brennan told me about him too. You may put your fears to rest, Adam. I can't tell you everything Brennan told me, as much of it lies under the seal of confession. But I can tell you that Mike had come to Brennan, asked him to join him in a job, and Brennan refused him. Mike grew angry, and Brennan was very saddened – Mike had been a close friend."

Adam's face was stricken. "I can't believe we were so wrong," he whispered. "Brennan came for confession?"

"Yes. And I cannot know for sure, but I think it really helped him. Now, when Brennan left here the last time, the police were waiting for him. If you don't mind my sticking my nose in, I know that you and he were not on good terms the last time you parted, but I think he really needs you now."

Adam swallowed. "I'm not sure he would listen to me now. I said some terrible things, and he must have thought….oh, God, what can I say to him now?"

Awa placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "That's the idea. If anyone can help you two figure this out, it's God. Brennan is coming to terms with his past life, admitting his sins in order to be free of them. Adam, you too will need to admit your guilt in this matter to Brennan to make this right between you. Do you think you can do this?"

Adam took a deep breath. "I'm not sure. But I have to try. Now, my people are already helping Brennan get out of jail, and I had better get back. Thank you, Father. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Tell Brennan I expect to see him back here on Sunday."

Adam smiled. "I will."

-----

Brennan was sitting on the cot in his cell, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, when the door opened with the sound of metal on metal. He looked up and saw the guards waiting for him.

"They're here. Time to go, Mr. Mulwray."

Brennan stood, taking a deep breath, determined not to allow the Agents sent to collect him to see his fear. Somehow, he told himself, he'd get away. He just had to wait for the opportunity. He stepped out of the cell and allowed the guards to cuff his wrists and ankles and lead him slowly down to the reception area.

His face was hard and he stood tall as they entered the room where the agents waited. He almost lost his composure, however, when he saw who was waiting for him.

Emma, in glasses and a power suit, was standing hands-on-hips by the desk, a GSA badge clipped to her jacket and a sour, impatient expression on her face. Her customarily flippant hair had been pulled back tightly into a clip at the crown of her head, making her face seem narrow and emotionless.

"Is this him?" She asked, waving in Brennan's direction. Her voice was so commanding, so unlike the Emma he knew that Brennan almost thought that he had mistaken her, that it was not Emma at all. The guards confirmed Brennan's identity, and handed her a clipboard to sign.

But when the woman signaled the two waiting GSAgents, who had been waiting by the door, forward to take charge of Brennan, any doubt left Brennan's mind, and he had to force himself not to grin. Jesse and Shalimar moved forward to take their places on either side of Brennan. Jesse took his arm, and Brennan shook it away, but Jesse grabbed it again, hard. Emma signed the form, and passed it back to the guard.

"Thank you." She looked back over her shoulder at her teammates. "Bring him," she said peremptorily, then stalked out of the room, leaving them to trail behind her.

-----

None of them spoke again until they had placed Brennan in the back of a waiting black van, and they were well on their way.

"Thanks guys," Brennan said finally. "I was getting pretty worried there."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to meet the guy who thought these hats were a good idea," Jesse grumbled, pulling at the elastic which held the little cap on his head.

"I don't know," Emma said, her manner now fully returned to her normal, gentle self. "I think they're kind of cute."

Shalimer winced as she tried to disentangle a stray lock of blonde hair from her elastic. "Cute is not the word I would use."

"So…" Brennan said. "Are you going to let me out of these?" He shook the chains he still wore suggestively.

"Sorry, Brennan," Emma said over her shoulder. "We have to keep up the act until we're all the way out of the city, just in case we're stopped for any reason."

"So where are we going?" Brennan asked then.

"Sanctuary."

There was a pause. Brennan didn't know how much Adam had told the others about the altercation in the hallway when he had given Brennan his ultimatum, and he didn't want to open the door to an uncomfortable conversation, so he let it lie, and stared out at the passing traffic.

-----

When they finally reached Sanctuary, The girls went on in to change and Jesse began unlocking Brennan's restraints. "Brennan?" he said finally, as he straightened up from the last ankle shackle.

"Yeah?" Brennan was scratching his nose with profound relief.

"You need to have a serious talk with Adam."

"I know."

Jesse's blue eyes were earnest. "And, I want to say – I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Brennan said, looking away. "Well, so am I."

End of Chapter 8.

Last chapter – epilogue – should follow soon. It's almost finished now anyway.

Cheers,  
Susan


	9. Chapter 9: Epilogue

Disclaimer: _MutantX_ and its associated characters, locales, etc. belong to Tribune Entertainment _et al_ and I claim no ownership of them and intend no copyright infringement. Original characters and locales such as Father Awa, Detective Lewis, and St. John of the Cross church are my own and I would appreciate being consulted if someone wishes to use them.

Author's Note: Well, that's it for this one. Thanks again to all of the reviewers – you guys rock! And without you the story would likely not have been finished. Sometimes, once I have a plotline all figured out in my head, I get a little less driven to actually sit down and write the ending, so I need a good kick in the pants. It's encouraging to me that a story like this one got such a favourable response – and such a complete lack of negative response. :D :D :D So I say it again – you guys rock! God Bless.

**Crisis of Faith** – Chapter 9

By Deichtine

Brennan finished the last form of the _Poomse__ TaeBaek_ with tired muscles, and picked up the towel he'd brought with him to the dojo and mopped his face with it, thankful for its rough texture against his skin. He had come to the dojo alone that evening, partly because so much time in close confinement left his fit body crying for exercise, but moreso because he needed to work through some of the feelings still roiling through him, needed to re-centre himself, after the events of the last weeks. The others seemed to have sensed his need to be alone, and had given him his privacy, for which he was grateful; the raised position of the dojo always made him feel a little on display. He was somewhat surprised to find that the flowing movements of the _Poomse_ and the visioning techniques he had learned when he was first learning them put him into a state of mind where almost without realizing it, he slipped into prayer. It felt strange, but good, to pray without feeling like he was forcing something; he stopped worrying about what exactly to say, and just let his mind speak to God unencumbered by words.

Now that he had finished, he heard quiet footsteps approaching, and lowering his towel he saw Adam standing near the foot of the stairs, looking up at him with an unreadable expression.

"Brennan," he said, "if you're finished, do you have a minute? We need to talk."

Brennan felt his newfound tenuous inner peace dissolve. He had anticipated this moment, and Jesse's apology in the garage had confirmed his suspicions. Adam would oh-so-tactfully say that, though he had wanted things to be different, he just didn't think Brennan was going to work out as a member of Mutant X. He needed someone whose past was clean – Brennan's past put them all at risk. Brennan had no idea what he would say about his Sunday morning forays, though. He put the towel around his neck with slow, deliberate movements, then, sighing, began to descend.

"Come on into my study," Adam said, motioning, and Brennan followed him into the spacious, warmly-lit room. He was unsurprised to find it tastefully decorated in minimalist fashion, with just a hint of oriental influence. At Adam's gesture, he dropped into one of the overstuffed leather chairs sitting in front of the desk, and to his surprise, Adam declined to take the position of authority on the other side of the desk, but rather pulled his chair around to sit across from him, fingers steepled in thought.

"I'm not really sure how to begin," Adam said after a pause. "This isn't easy for me to say."

Brennan ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, making it stand on end every which way. "Don't worry about it. I think I know what you're going to say anyway."

"Oh?" Adam looked surprised, but Brennan stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his sweat pants. "Yeah. Look Adam, I know I let you down. I should have told you about the bank from the beginning. I just…I wanted to put all that behind me." He shook his head. "I don't know how I ever managed to convince myself that I might ever really fit in here, and I think I understand why you want me to leave. I tried to work it out with the church, and it helped, but I just – I have too much…" he groped for a word. "History. But…thanks, for the chance."

Adam's eyes widened and he reached out to stop the door that Brennan had begun to open. "Brennan, sit down," he said, in a low, somehow thick voice. Looking at the older man's eyes, Brennan couldn't define what he saw there. Guilt? Compassion? Confused, he slowly lowered himself into the chair again, unwilling to look at the man's face.

There was another pause, as Brennan studied his hands and Adam struggled to find the words to say what needed saying.

Finally, Adam said, "Brennan, do you know why you're a New Mutant?"

Brennan's head came up quickly. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't that. "What?"

"Do you know why you're a New Mutant?" Adam repeated.

Brennan shrugged, his brows furrowed. "Because some scientists at Genomex messed around with my DNA."

"Why _your_ DNA, in particular?"

He shrugged again. "Never really thought about it," he confessed.

"When your mother came to Genomex, the disease that would kill her eleven years later was already beginning its attack on her cells. For her at the time, the progress of the disease was slow, barely noticeable. But even as early as two months into her pregnancy, she knew it was already killing you."

Brennan sat unmoving. What Adam was saying was the last thing he had expected, and the emotions it was raising in him were strong, despite his having (he thought) put them to rest years ago. "I never really understood why my mother died," he said quietly.

"The disease was very rare, and there was no known cure. It attached the mitochondria – the part of the cell which provides the cell the energy it needs to grow and perform its function. You were still developing in your mother's womb, but your cells couldn't generate the energy they needed to divide and reproduce. You couldn't grow. At two months gestation, you were only as far along as most healthy embryos at six weeks." Adam held his hand up, fingers about one third of an inch apart. "This big.

"When your mother came to Genomex, she knew she would die from the disease. But she was willing to try anything to allow you to live."

Brennan felt like squirrels had gotten into his stomach and were chasing each other in a frenzied game of tag. He listened silently.

"I was already chief biogeneticist at the time, and though I moved back and forth among the four main research teams, I was always drawn most to the Elementals and the Moleculars. Your mother's case especially attracted me; she was so determined to give you a fighting chance. I worked with her for almost the entire length of her pregnancy. I want to tell you, too, that though it was a very hard pregnancy, and a lot of the work we did must have been very painful, she never once complained.

"By this time, we were only just beginning to see mutations in the children we had helped, and we believed we had corrected the problem. I never expected what the results of our 'messing around' would be for you. And when, at eight months gestation, you were no longer showing any signs of the mitochondrial disorder and the heightened electrical impulses were compensating for your cells' weakness, we sent your mother home. A month and a half later, your mother sent me this."

Adam reached across the deck to pull something out of the top drawer, and handed it to Brennan. It was an old Polaroid snapshot of Brennan's mother, looking young, tired, but happy, holding an exhausted-looking infant, bright-eyed, with a shock of dark hair. Across the bottom of the picture was written, in his mother's characteristically hurried handwriting, "Brennan James Mulwray, 8 lbs, 7 oz."

Brennan stared at his mother's smiling face and his younger self, trying to absorb the story. Finally he looked up at Adam again, his eyes wet. "I don't understand. Why are you telling me all this?"

"You said you had history that could never let you be a part of this team. I want you to know that you have a history that ties you to us, too.

"Your mother was willing to do anything to give you a chance at life. And when you came to Mutant X, I was so happy to be able to give you a second chance, for her sake as much as yours, or ours. But when I thought you'd gone back to your old life – I've spoken to Father Awa, Brennan, and I know now how wrong I was about this whole situation – when I thought you'd gone back to a life of crime, that you'd thrown away that chance I had given you, I was so disappointed, so angry at you, at _myself_, for being so wrong, for failing…." Adam trailed off, and his eyes grew misty as he saw the guilt and self-blame Brennan was feeling. He leaned forward and reached out suddenly to grasp Brennan's shoulders tightly, and he looked earnestly into the younger man's eyes.

"I was wrong, Brennan. You never betrayed me. Never. You tried to tell me what was happening, and I didn't listen. In my pride, I had been so happy to be giving you a chance at a new life, but when put to the test, I never really gave you a chance at all. I will totally understand if you choose to leave, but I hope that you can find it in you to give Mutant X – to give me – a second chance. You do belong here, Brennan Mulwray, as much as any of us. Can you forgive me?"

Brennan's face was wet with tears now, and he reached out to grasp Adam's shoulders, joining him in a kind of half-hug. "Oh, Adam," was all he could say. They stayed that way, heads bowed with emotion, for a long time, unspeaking, until finally Brennan pulled away and wiped his nose roughly on his arm.

"Okay, I'll stay," he said, finally, "on one condition."

Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You never, ever, tell Jesse or the others that you saw me cry."

Adam smiled. "Agreed."

A light of mischief sprang into Brennan's red-rimmed eyes, and he grinned suddenly. "And I never have to mop the concourse."

Adam smiled and gave him a mock-severe, fatherly frown. "Don't push your luck."

Brennan laughed, and together they stood and went out to join the rest of their family.

-----

That Sunday, Jesse rose early, wiping the sleep out of his eyes with his left hand even as he turned off his alarm with his right. In the next room, Jesse could hear Brennan's shower turn on, and he quickly pushed himself up out of bed and began pulling on his clothes.

When Brennan reached the door to the garage, Jesse was waiting for him. The tall Elemental looked down at him warily.

"Hey Jess."

"Hey Brennan. You headed out?"

"Yeah."

"Mind if I come along?" In the past week, Jesse and Brennan's relationship had been somewhat strained, and Jesse had decided to get it dealt with.

Brennan looked uncomfortable. "I'm, ah, going to church," he said, a little embarrassed.

Jesse nodded. "Oh, I know. Mike told me."

Brennan blinked. "Mike told you?"

"Yeah. After I threatened him a bit, of course."

"Are you…Catholic?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. I was raised Christian, and since I talked to Mike and found out what you were doing, I thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to revisit that side of myself."

Brennan nodded, recognizing the gesture Jesse was making, and touched deeply by it. He grinned rakishly."Okay. But I'm driving."

-----

"Peace be with you."

"And also with you."

Brennan turned from the little old lady in front of him to face Jesse. "Peace be with you," he said.

Jesse took his offered hand and smiled. "You too."

When Brennan turned around, he saw that the young woman he had seen there before, the one from the bank, was there again today, in the same spot. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the chain of her necklace, let his thumb brush over the engraving on the pendant.

When the Mass was over, Brennan rose quickly to catch up to the girl before she left, leaving a puzzled Jesse waiting in the pew. "Excuse me," he said, touching her elbow lightly.

She stopped, and looked at him. The way her eyes searched his face, he felt sure that she recognized him, but could not remember why. "I think I have something of yours," he said, and then, slowly, drew the necklace from his pocket.

She reached out and took it, looked at it, then looked up at him again. "You!" she said at last, her eyes widening in recognition as she stepped back a pace. "I _knew_ I knew you from somewhere."

"Well, I want you to know that what happened at the bank that day – well, I don't do that anymore, and I've spoken to the police about it. But I wanted to give that back to you myself."

She stared at him. "Um, okay….well, thanks, I guess."

"I'm sorry, if I frightened you, and for taking this from you. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But at that time, I guess I was choosing not to see that I was doing just that." His face was red, now, and he couldn't meet her eyes.

She hesitated, then held the necklace out to him. "Would you put it on me? The catch is hard."

Gently, he took it from her, and she turned her back and bent her head so that her short hair would be away from her neck. Brennan softly draped it around her neck, and fastened the clasp.

"Thanks," she said, then smiled a little kind of half-smile. "It was my mother's," she continued, and her hand raised to close around the pendant.

"I understand," Brennan said, quietly. "Say a prayer for me sometime, okay?"

"I will."

When she left, Brennan turned to see Jesse and Father Awa, trying very hard to look like they had not been watching the exchange. "So, Father," Jesse said loudly. "How about those Mets?"

"Yes, how about those Mets?" Awa responded, looking a little abashed.

"Okay, okay, you guys," Brennan said, grinning, as he walked back over to them. "You don't have to pretend."

"Well," Awa said, more seriously. "It was the right thing to do, and it took courage."

Brennan shrugged. "I didn't really need it anymore. See you around, Father."

"Till next week."

Brennan slid into the car behind the driver's seat, and looked over at Jesse as the young Molecular was fastening his seatbelt. "Any particular reason you need to get back to Sanctuary right away?" Brennan asked.

"No, not really. Why?"

Brennan started the engine. "Thought I might hit the mall. I think it's time I did some shopping. My room's kind of empty looking, don't you think? After all," he said with mock seriousness, "'it's the little touches that make a house a home'."

Jesse grinned back. "Just as long as we don't spend too much time looking at doilies."

Brennan broke into a laugh, loud and long and happy. "Agreed."

The End.

Tae Kwan Do info from h t t p : w w w .b a r r e l . n e t / p a t t e r n s . p h p


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